


and from the rain

by moralityism



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Alternate Universe - Human, Deceit's Name is Dante, Gen, Seasonally Inappropriate Beach Fic, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moralityism/pseuds/moralityism
Summary: The family gathers at home for the holidays. Roman and Dante settle some things, finally.





	and from the rain

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings for Sympathetic Deceit, brief mention of a hurricane, mentions of alcohol and a minor head injury (skip from “They can barely hear the waves breaking on the shore…” to “What happened to us?”). Let me know if I miss anything!
> 
> This was a Christmas gift for @roceit on Tumblr!

Roman steps out of his car into the sand that constitutes the parking lot of Logan and Virgil’s shop and is immediately hit by the smell of the ocean, although he can’t see the water anywhere nearby.

_Shops, plural_ , Logan would correct if he heard.  _It’s a marketplace featuring multiple local artists. Calling it a shop is diminutive_.

He raises his arms over his head, stretching out his poor back. It’s a long drive to the Keys from Miami, even in such a nice rental car. He’s frustrated that he wasn’t the one that paid for the car, nor the plane ticket from New York.

(…and by the pressing knowledge that he wouldn’t have been able to afford the trip to see everyone otherwise.)

Roman shakes his head and walks up to the front door. It’s made of wood and looks unsteady, but it doesn’t budge when he tries to open it. There’s no doorbell, either, just a long chain hanging down next to the door. Roman gives it a perplexed look and a tug, and hears the faint sound of a bell ringing inside.

There’s the sound of feet pounding up to the door. It swings open and Patton throws himself bodily into Roman’s arms. Roman lifts him up into a hug. Patton laughs gleefully, forehead pressed against Roman’s. “I missed you!”

Roman smiles, the last of his frustration melting away in the face of their walking ball of sunshine. “I missed you too.” He sets Patton down just as Logan and Virgil reach the front door. Neither of them make a move to hug him, but Logan gives him a soft smile.

“It is good to see you again, Prince,” he says, offering a hand. Roman takes it and shakes it firmly.

“Dee’s still out back on the beach if you wanna go say hi,” Virgil adds pointedly.

Roman shakes his head. “I think I’ll give him some alone time for now.” Virgil crosses his arms but doesn’t argue.

“Shall we go inside?” Logan asks. “Let’s not leave Roman standing on our doorstep.”

“Ooh, yeah! I can show him around!” Patton takes Roman by the arm and drags him inside. “It’s so amazing in here! Just wait until you see Virgil’s shop—”

“Leave that for last,” Virgil calls from behind as Patton drags them off.

Patton’s right. Most of the individual shops are closed now, windows darkened, but the sheer variety of goods — ranging from lawn decorations to clothes to glass-blown figures and jewelry — is nothing short of impressive. The marketplace itself is mostly outdoors, a driftwood path through the sand connecting the shops and leading out to the coast behind them. Roman would love to see what it looks like when it’s open, but it’s beautiful even shuttered down. There are lights strung up on the building and along the palm trees, and red bows tied along the posts that hold up the overhang in front of the shops, almost managing to convert the tourist trap into a holiday scene.

Almost.

“Still, isn’t this kind of seasonally inappropriate?” Roman points out. “We’re celebrating  _Christmas_.”

“Listen, Princey,” Virgil snaps, “I didn’t spend three days covering this place in lights for you to come down here and criticize me for living on an island.”

Logan offers, “We’ll come to your place next time if it’s going to be an issue. You live in New York, right? We’ll definitely see a white Christmas there, at least.”

Roman laughs. “I barely have enough room for myself in my apartment, much less all of you.” He pauses. “Dante could have accommodated us in that house of his, that’s all I’m saying.”

Virgil stops in front of one of the shops. “He got home yesterday. When did you expect him to decorate?” He jams the key into the lock with more force than necessary and swings the door open.

Patton murmurs, “It’s a shame we didn’t get any blue lights, though…” Virgil immediately slams the door shut again.

“Are you kidding me?” he demands.

“Those are way too tacky, Pat,” Roman adds.

Logan nods. “They look like those K-Mart sales.”

“Hey,” Virgil says, “show some respect for the dead.”

There’s a brief moment of silence.

“You…you mean K-Mart?”

“Obviously,” Virgil snorts, finally opening the door. The others trail behind him as he makes his way inside, flicking on lights as he walks towards the back.

The paintings covering the walls stop Roman in his tracks. Beach scenes from all times of day, sunrise to midday to late at night; paintings of local flora and fauna; hand-drawn diagrams supplemented with notes in Virgil’s handwriting. It’s all done in the impressionistic style Virgil favors, swirls and waves that seem almost as if they’ll vanish in the sea breeze.

“Holy shit,” Roman breathes.

“I hope that’s a good ‘holy shit’,” Virgil calls.

“A good…Virgil, you’re amazing!”

Virgil scoffs. “Damn, I sure hope so. Went through four years of art school and everything.” There’s red dusting his cheeks.

In the back of Virgil’s shop, there’s a step down to a smaller space. It’s partially walled off but has a view of the rest of the shop. To the right sits a desk holding art supplies and loose paper, arranged in an orderly fashion (although Roman suspects that’s more due to Logan’s influence than any effort on Virgil’s part). To the left is a small sitting area with a loveseat, two armchairs, and a coffee table. Logan and Patton have settled in the chairs, while Virgil is for some reason perched on the arm of the empty loveseat. Roman lowers himself into the farthest seat, offering Virgil room to sit. Virgil doesn’t take it.

Patton pipes up, “Oh, I wish you could have seen that painting Virgil did for that Irma auction! It was absolutely incredible! Took up the whole room, almost!” He stretches out his arms to emphasize the last point. Logan neatly dodges being smacked in the face.

Roman remembers reading about that piece. It had been featured as part of a Los Angeles charity auction with proceeds going towards disaster relief after Hurricane Irma. Measuring in at nearly 10 feet long, “Anxiety” depicted all the chaos of the hurricane that swept through the Caribbean and South Florida the year before, nearly flattening the region. The piece sold for a few million dollars at the auction, a surprising figure for an unknown local artist.

Virgil looks away. “I just did it to help out, it’s not that big a deal.”

Patton giggles. “I think you and your brother must have been born to be famous!” Roman sinks lower in his seat.

Virgil scoffs, not noticing Roman’s discomfort. “Yeah, that’s what Mom and Dad are telling the press,” he says wryly. “Y’know, ‘cause they were so supportive.”

“Is that why you’ve been so desperate to avoid publicity?” Logan questions. “Because you don’t want to talk about your parents?”

“Nah, I just don’t like cameras. I mean, they’re pissing Dee off too.”

Patton’s face twists. “I wish there was something we could do.”

Virgil shrugs. “We don’t talk to them anymore. We have a better family now, anyway. Who cares about those losers?”

Patton squeals and jumps out of his chair, and Virgil holds his arms up to fend off the incoming hug attack.

Logan chuckles. “Patton, you live with us. You know this isn’t a new development.”

Patton sticks his tongue out at him. “Virgil expressing affection is always cause for celebration.”

“Right.” He glances at Roman, leaving his housemates to work themselves out. “Incidentally, how  _has_  Dante been? I haven’t spoken to him much since filming began, outside of interrupting his conversations with Virgil.”

Roman hesitates. “I…we haven’t been talking much, lately.”

“What?”

“Really?”

Roman crosses his arms defensively. “I mean, you just said you haven’t heard from him much either! Why is it different for me?”

Patton frowns at him, mercifully leaving Virgil alone. “But you two were like, besties forever! I can’t believe you aren’t talking!”

“Well…”  _I cursed him out on a video chat and refused to talk to him for three months because I was frustrated with—_ “It didn’t seem like he was interested.”

“It didn’t—” Virgil gives him an incredulous look. “He’s been busy! He barely talked to me for three months!” He crosses his arms. “I was gracious enough not to absorb his ass in the womb and all I got was phone calls once or twice a week. Didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in hearing from me! Besides, you’re all he’s been able to talk about.” Virgil places the back of his hand on his head and falls dramatically backwards into Roman’s lap, eyes shut. “ _Oh, how I miss Roman. Oh, how I want to talk to Roman. Oh, how lonely I am without Roman here. Oh, how cold the world is without my best friend by my side._ ” His eyes pop open. “You know?”

Roman stares down at him, unimpressed. “Remind me why you never went into acting?”

“Stage fright.” Virgil pulls himself to a sitting position, still in Roman’s lap. “People might make fun of me.”

“And I won’t?”

Virgil raises an eyebrow at him. “No, you won’t, because I still have those pictures from Patton’s birthday party that one year.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah, I own you.”

Patton pouts. “It wasn’t that bad! You just—”

Roman laughs frantically. “How about we just never talk about it ever again?” Virgil snorts at him.

Logan checks his phone briefly. “Virgil, if we’re going to get food, we probably need to leave. The restaurant is closing soon.”

Patton’s eyes widen. “Oh, you’re right!” He turns to Roman. “You’re going to love their food, they have the best conch fritters!”

“The best what?”

Virgil hauls himself up, offering Roman a hand. “Patton, why don’t you come with us and help us carry the food? We can give Dee and Roman some time to catch up.”

“Oh, I’m not—” Without waiting for Roman to finish, Virgil pulls him up by the arms and drags him out of the shop, Logan and Patton at his heels.

“I’ll show him to the beach,” Virgil says. “Go ahead and start the car.”

“I’ll…” Patton trails off as Logan puts a hand on his shoulder. Logan makes eye contact with Virgil and nods, leading a confused Patton away. Virgil turns and pulls Roman in the opposite direction, nails digging into Roman’s arm.

They stop abruptly just past the edge of the marketplace. Virgil turns to face Roman, face shadowed in the moonlight. The glow of the Christmas decorations is distant. “He told me about what happened.”

Roman looks away. “I assumed as much. Look, Virgil, I…”

“I don’t want to hear it from you,” Virgil snaps. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to anyway.” He jabs a finger into Roman’s chest. “Roman, I swear to God, if you don’t behave I will personally send you back to New York in a shipping crate. Are we clear?”

“…Crystal.”

“Good.” Virgil jerks his head to the right. “The beach is just down that way. Should be hard to get lost, even for an airhead like you.” He smirks. Roman can’t bring himself to return it. “We’ll be back soon. Try to be civil, yeah?” Without waiting for a response, he brushes past Roman and back towards the market.

The night is quiet aside from the soothing crash of waves upon the shore. The small private beach on Logan and Virgil’s property is, from Roman’s understanding, a popular photo spot for tourists. Aside from the beach itself and the occasional food truck, it plays host to an arrangement of small statues, swinging hammocks tucked into the trees, and the odd hook-and-ring game that Virgil claims he has never once seen outside of the Keys.

One of the hammocks is occupied. A man lies silently with one hand draped over his chest and the other behind his head. There’s a sunhat draped haphazardly over his face, but Roman would recognize him anywhere.

“Dante?”

Dante jerks up out of his nap with a curse and immediately loses his balance. The hammock deposits him face-first on the ground in front of Roman.

“Damn, it gets dark fast around here,” Dante mutters, brushing the sand off his shirt. Roman retrieves the hat from where it fell, quietly offering it to him. “Oh, thanks…Roman?!”

Roman musters up a smirk. “Glad to see you’re as graceful as always.”

Dante scoffs, swiping his hat and replacing it firmly on his head. “I was having a very nice nap in the sunlight, thank you very much.” He glances up at the starry night sky. “…what time is it?”

Roman shrugs and helps him up. “Like…six-ish?”

“That’s not too bad,” he muses. “Did the other three abandon us?”

“They all went off to get food. Assumed we would appreciate some time to catch up.”

Dante smiles softly. “Well, I’ll take them up on that.” He turns back around and bends down near the hammock. “Hold on, I think Vee left a…aha!” He lifts a blanket up with a flourish and gestures to the empty beach. “Shall we?”

Roman gives an exaggerated bow. “After you, sir.” Dante winks at him.

They spread the blanket out in the middle of the beach and sit down on top, Dante immediately moving to prop his head on his knees. Out in the moonlight, Roman can get a better look at Dante’s face. He seems…tired. Content to stare out into the ocean, but the exhaustion lining his face is unmistakable.

There’s a long awkward pause as they both struggle for something to say.

It feels wrong. This is Dante! He and Roman used to be able to talk about absolutely nothing for hours on end, laughing away. Now they’re sitting next to each other on a moonlit beach, looking everywhere but at each other.

Roman finally tries to break the silence. “So…I’ve heard you’ve been busy.”

“Oh my god, like you wouldn’t believe,” Dante groans. “I can’t even tell you how hard it was to get down here for the holidays. I had like fourteen different parties I was invited to, and people kept telling me it was ‘career suicide’ if I didn’t go. Networking on Christmas Eve, can you imagine?” He sighs and hangs his head. “Them’s the breaks, though, I guess. How have you been?”

“Not nearly as busy as you,” Roman snips before he can stop himself. He doesn’t elaborate. Dante doesn’t ask.

They can barely hear the waves breaking on the shore over the deafening silence.

“Hey,” Roman says, “remember that one time we decided to practice lines drunk and I tried to do a monologue on your coffee table?”

“And then you fell off my coffee table and split your head open, and Virgil screamed at us the whole way to the hospital?” Dante snickers at the memory despite himself. “Oddly enough, yes, I do remember that. Why do you ask?”

“What happened to us?”

Dante looks away. The beach falls quiet again. “I…I got so wrapped up in my own life that I lost sight of the people who helped me get there,” he admits. “I just stopped talking to everyone, and then had the nerve to be surprised when I got called out on it.” He laughs again, but there’s no humor in it.

Roman shakes his head. “No, I…what I said was unfair to you. I wasn’t even…I was disappointed in myself because I feel like I’ve just been spinning my wheels, and I turned that against you. You didn’t deserve any of that shit I put on you, and I…” He trails off.

Dante hums, looking out over the water. Roman tightens his grip on the blanket. He doesn’t know what Dante will do at this point, but he wouldn’t blame him for leaving.

Dante bursts into laughter. Roman whirls to stare at him. “What’s so funny?” he demands.

“I just—” Dante wipes a stray tear from his eye. “We’re a couple of pieces of work, aren’t we? Going on thirty years old and still can’t say we’re sorry.”

“Speak for yourself,” Roman sniffs. “Of course I can apologize. I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I couldn’t.”

“Do it then, coward.”

“Right now?” Roman flounders. He’s had so much he wanted to say all this time, but in the face of actually having to do it, words fail him.

Before he can actually say anything, Dante snickers. “If it’ll make it any easier, Virgil offered me the quote-unquote ‘apology template’ he and Logan use when they get into it.”

“…They have a template?”

Dante shrugs. “Apparently Logan is bad at apologizing without sounding condescending. Who could have guessed?”

Roman snorts at that and relents. “Yeah, sure, why not. Go with the template.”

Dante winks at him and inhales deeply. “Roman Prince—”

“Does the apology template require you to say my full name?”

“…No, that was an extra garnish I added in to raise the tension of the scene. Was it too much?”

“A little.”

“Got it. Let me try again.” Dante clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter. “Roman, I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to lose contact with all of my friends over work, and I was inconsiderate in not noticing how you were feeling. In the future, I’m going to try to be better about staying in contact. If there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”

Roman bites down the offense rising up at the offer. Dante’s just trying to help. There’s no reason to let his pride break the calm that’s beginning to settle. “Well,” he begins instead, drawing out the vowel as he thinks, “I don’t need a template, because I’m not a loser—”

Dante snorts. “Right.”

“But, um, I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I…I’ve been letting my own pride get the better of me, and I projected a lot of my frustrations onto you instead of celebrating how far you’ve come. I shouldn’t have done that, and…I’m going to try to be better about accepting help, I think.”

Dante stares at him for a moment. “…You basically followed the template anyway,” he points out.

Roman pouts at him. “I’m baring my heart, here! At least be a little sympathetic!” Dante laughs.

A breeze blows through, making Dante shiver. It’s almost warm to Roman, used to New York winters as he is, but Dante grew up much farther south. It seems like they’ll have to head back inside, as tragic as it is to abandon the view. Roman gets to his feet without a word, helping Dante up as well.

It’s a dumb question, but Roman feels like he needs to make things clear. “So…are we cool?”

“I certainly hope so,” Dante responds. “I bought you some excellent souvenirs. I’d hate for them to go to waste.” He winks at Roman, who rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he stoops to pick up the blanket.

He shakes the sand out, drapes the blanket over his shoulder, and turns to leave, but Dante catches him by the wrist. “Roman.” Roman turns halfway, and Dante takes his other hand. “I…” He hesitates. “Let’s make something together again. Just the two of us, like we used to.”

Roman considers this and smiles. “I think I’d like that.”

* * *

As Roman and Dante approach Virgil’s shop, Roman pauses to listen to the voices floating through the open door.

“Whether or not something is edible…that’s not a spectrum, Patton! There’s no such thing as reasonably edible objects!”

“Look, all I’m saying is that I understand why some kids bite into glow sticks! I wouldn’t do it, but I understand!”

“Glow sticks are the ultimate forbidden fruit,” Roman informs Logan as he enters, taking a seat on the arm of Patton’s chair and snagging a few fritters off the tray in the center. Dante plops down next to Virgil and they begin one of their weird eye-contact-only twin conversations as Logan gives Roman an incredulous look.

“They’re not…they don’t even taste good! Why would you—“

“Wait, hold up,” Virgil cuts in, holding up a hand. “How would you know?”

Patton gives Logan a concerned look. “Logan, have you…eaten a glow stick before?”

Logan turns bright red. “I…only twice! It’s not as though I knew any better! I was four years old!”

“When Virgil was four,” Dante contributes, “he stuck a screwdriver in an electrical outlet.” He pops a few French fries in his mouth as Virgil sputters. The argument devolves into chaos, to the point that Roman can’t even tell what they’re trying to argue.

Patton leans over, pressing the side of his head into Roman’s side. “It’s so nice when everyone’s home for the holidays,” he murmurs, barely audible above the din.

Roman glances over at Dante, who has resorted to holding Virgil’s plate over his head. They’re both laughing, even as Virgil threatens to “take him down to size”.

“Yes,” he decides, “it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I changed my Tumblr URL! Come find me at [@anxceit](https://anxceit.tumblr.com/)!


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